


Expectations Weigh Heavy On The Neglected

by witchory



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/F, Swan Queen Week Summer 2016
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 06:14:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7703647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchory/pseuds/witchory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Canon Divergence] After Regina is reunited with her darker half things in Storybrooke begin to settle down. Unfortunately, that’s not always a good thing. When she makes an abrupt revelation old vulnerabilities begin to resurface. However, she’s not the only one plagued with troubling thoughts. Together Emma and Regina help each other realize that you do not have to mutilate yourself to be accepted by others and prove your worth in the world; all you should worry about it what makes you happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm planning to stay on track with this story and post the seven other chapters this week, but life has been hectic at the moment so I can't make any promises. Again, I will happily – and gratefully – accept any constructive criticism you have to offer so long as your approach is kind and genuine. I have no beta. All mistakes are my own. And, obviously, I do not own Once Upon A Time nor do I have any sort of claim to the characters.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SQW Day 1, Confession

Regina was not a fan of things happening unexpectedly. She liked to be prepared. Plots, plans, itineraries: these were all things she appreciated. Since the first day Emma Swan walked into her life, however, these luxuries seldom occurred. She loathed her because of it—for a while at least. Eventually it became a more attractive quality. Thrilling even. But now, after this realization, Regina loathed it and Emma once more. 

 

She had no one to blame but herself. Well, she _could_ blame Zelena. She was the one who kept making obscure remarks for months on end before annoyance took over and she finally blurted out, “Will you stop brooding and just tell her you love her already,” in the middle of Granny’s diner. Regina nearly spat out the water she had just sipped, only to choke uncontrollably when trying to recover from it. She looked as refine as one could while suffocating and Zelena had just smirked triumphantly because Regina just gave her all the confirmation she needed.   

 

That was a week ago; a week which was spent in denial, resisting even the possibility of loving Emma Swan. Now though, that she accepted it, she was pissed. Mainly at Emma for being so charming, but also at herself for allowing it to happen. 

 

Ever since Zelena brought this information to light—that she loved Emma in a way that more than just friends love each other—she was unable to think of anything else.

 

It was impossible for her to get more than a few hours of sleep. Her brain was too muddled with how she could have let it happen, falling in love with her enemy-turned-friend. It was done so unintentionally, so naturally, that she didn’t even realize it. Years of heated arguments that evolved into mutual understanding and eventually into fervently protecting one another; in hindsight, she didn't stand a chance. 

 

Telling Emma, however, meant risking the already fragile friendship they’d spent years carefully constructing. There were many things she could cope with. The loss of her fairy dust soulmate, the hatred she held for the darkest part of herself, mandatory family dinners with Mary Margaret once a week, but losing her closest friend and confidant? Absolutely not. Going back to being alone in a world that misunderstood her, she didn't think she could recover from that sense of isolation again.  

 

Harboring her feelings was not working either. Not only did she feel like she was suffocating by keeping something so crucial from her friend—something Regina felt Emma deserved to know—but Emma was worried _she_ had done something wrong. Regina tried to avoid her over the week, needing the distance to make sense of her feelings. But the savior was nothing if not determined, and so Regina ended up seeing her at Granny’s twice throughout the week despite changing her routine. She figured Emma must have waited for her at Granny’s which did nothing to assuage her guilt. The concern etched into Emma’s features and eyes that shone with worry and unspoken questions— _what have I done? How can I fix it?—_ left her feeling ill. 

 

Still, she refused to unearth this revelation. Emma had just broken up with her boyfriend. She needed a friend right now, not someone who possibly craved something more from her. And more importantly, Emma was going to therapy. She was finally doing something that would benefit herself. 

 

After one of their new and slightly unexpected, yet frequently occurring conversations, Emma had reluctantly agreed to see Archie. She was still adamant that she did not have unresolved issues, but since it was Regina who asked, she agreed to go. Once. Now though, Emma willingly sought out Archie’s guidance once a week.

 

Emma was finally being selfish—if allowing herself to be vulnerable and mend herself could even be considered selfish. Regina wasn’t going to interfere. Not when she played such a crucial role in the way her life turned out in the first place. Emma earned the right to be selfish, in more ways than just confronting her demons. And as her friend, Regina strove to make her realize it.

 

It was inherent, Emma’s need to please others. Her own happiness was not a concern or a priority. Regina was sure if she voiced her desires Emma would willingly fulfill them; Regina feared that more than being rejected because it meant her feelings would not be genuine and rather born of Emma’s innate goodness and selfless need to give Regina a happy ending. That was even less desirable than loneliness: a fake relationship built of obligation. 

 

Her body grew taunt as her past tumbled over her, chilling her to the core. Unbidden, memories of what her life was like when she was young surfaced. A queen with no desire for power. A wife who was not wanted nor loved. A token of respect for the King and nothing more. It was consuming her, hollowing out her heart and filling it with a hatred she hadn't felt in years. And so she drank. A lot. She did so without feeling guilty, however, because Henry was at his grandparents and she was alone and it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. 

 

By the time a knock sounded through the foyer the sun had already set; the moon took its place, casting a silvery glow through the slits of the curtains. Regina stumbled towards the door, cursing under her breath as the knock repeated. She fiddled with the lock a moment before swinging the door wide open.

 

“Emma,” she said, voice breathy as she swooned forward. Her face scrunched up as she spoke again, “It’s late. What are you doing here?”

 

“You are very drunk,” Emma stated in lieu of greeting the inebriated mayor. 

 

The brunette attempted to right herself on swaying feet as she scoffed. “I can hold my liquor. I don’t get drunk.” She sounded superior as ever and all Emma could do was chuckle.

 

“Of course not.” Nodding to the arm clasping the door frame she asked, “Can I come in?” 

 

It looked as though Regina was wading through her whiskey-swamped brain for a polite way to turn her away, so Emma stopped her before she added more strain to what she could only predict would be an awful hangover. “Never mind. You should probably get to bed. I’ll just,” she jabbed her thumb over her shoulder, “go. Sorry for interrupting your night.”  

 

“Nonsense, come in. You didn't interrupted anything.” The words were rushed, one stumbling over the other in a fervid attempt to remedy her hesitation. She stepped back immediately and gestured for Emma to step inside. 

 

“You sure? I don’t want to impose or anything,” her voice was unsure and tenuous. 

 

Regina didn’t dignify that with a respond, instead turning around and sauntering off to her study. If she stumbled Emma didn’t say anything. She just closed the door behind her and locked the deadbolt before trailing after her.

 

“Thank you,” Emma said as she settled onto the couch and took the proffered drink from Regina. Even intoxicated Regina was ever the decorous hostess. 

 

“So,” Emma drawled, “what have you been up to lately? Aside from avoiding me and everything.” She took a sip of her drink as she looked up to Regina who, to her credit, didn’t flinch. Much. It wouldn’t have been noticeable to someone who hadn’t spent years getting to know every tick and subtle expression that crossed her face.

 

“I haven’t been avoiding you. It has just been a busy week, that’s all.” Emma raised a skeptical brow but didn’t say anything. “What brought you here tonight Emma?” she asked in an attempt to draw the conversation away from herself. 

 

She watched as Emma retreated into herself; when she didn’t respond, Regina leaned further into her seat and crossed her ankles, waiting patiently for an explanation that never came. She gave her half an hour—enough time to sober up—then drew Emma out of her stupor. “What brought you here tonight Emma?” she echoed her question from earlier.

 

Emma let out a sigh of someone who was deeply burdened by the continual pressure of expectations. Then, rolling the now empty tumbler against her thigh, she responded. “They don’t get it.”

 

“Even if I hadn’t been drinking tonight,” Regina admitted, “I’d need you to elaborate.” 

 

“Mary Margret and David. They think I’m just pretending to be fine, that I will break if they so much as mention Hook or the Evil Queen or anything that has happened this past month.”

 

“Ah, so you came here for a reprieve from the bumbling idiots.” Despite the silent agreement to be civil towards one another now—for Henry and Emma’s sake—Regina still found the Charmings to be insufferable. She reveled in the opportunity to show her distain towards them.

 

Emma made no move to rebuke the comment, only slumping further into the couch cushions. “It’s just…I am finally getting to a place where I can say I’m _happy_ ,” she stressed the word, desperate for someone to believe her. “And that isn’t enough. My happiness couldn’t possibly be legitimate because I’m not in a relationship.” The words were spat out with disdain and in the next moment Emma was laughing; it sounded so horribly defeated.

 

So little in her life made sense since she passed the ‘Welcome to Storybrooke’ sign six years ago. Her world tilted on its axis and the expectations people had for her weighed on her more than being a little orphan girl ever had. Mother, Sheriff, Savior, _Princess_ —these titles and the expectations bound to them were crippling. “I hate this,” she confessed. “I hate this happily ever after fairytale crap.” 

 

It wasn’t surprising. It wasn’t even a revelation. Everything from Emma’s body language to her weak attempts at making light of every new person who wasn’t just a character formed by sentences but actually real life, magical flesh and blood, rejected her new reality. Even so, the admission sobered Regina completely. 

 

This is why she was here, to be her friend. Tentatively, she grabbed Emma’s unoccupied hand with her own. “I understand,” she said as she added pressure to her grip. It was just two simple words. Nothing more, nothing less. Expressing her own enmity towards labels and love being the only path to happiness would only diminish the worth of Emma’s own feelings. 

 

The relief that shone in Emma’s eyes was as palpable as the appreciative squeeze her hand received. 

 

It was not in her nature to be recklessly loose-lipped, but she was so tired of seeing her friend miserable. Emma Swan deserved happiness. There hadn’t been any imminent threats looming over the magical town in weeks, and if anything were to arise Zelena was more than capable of managing it. And so, thoughtlessly, Regina offered an escape: leave Storybrooke, and love, and happily ever afters behind for a week to go anywhere Emma desired.

 

“This doesn’t mean I condone your inclination for running away,” she began to clarify. “After five years of chaos, however, we can afford to take a vacation.”

 

*

 

The sun began to rise, beams of light filtering though the window when they finally ascended the stairs and stumbled into the guest bedroom. Emma had thanked Regina by giving her a gracious amount of Regina’s own cider, promising to give her a more suitable thank you during their trip, and then drank her weight in alcohol. 

 

Regina, for her part, was no longer drunk—she had opted to watch Emma unwind than get drunk again; watching her be happy and carefree was really all the thanks she needed anyway.

 

Emma’s sock-cladded feet slipped across the cherrywood floor; she laughed tiredly as Regina wrapped a steadying arm around her waist and pulled her upright. Her hand curled around her hip and in the next moment Emma was pressed against her side.

 

When they neared the bed she launched herself from Regina’s embrace, landing roughly on white satin sheets. Immediately she began yanking at her skintight jeans, only to let out an exhausted whine when she deemed the task impossible.

 

“May I?” she waved her hand around feebly, gesturing to Emma’s clothes. She did not want to remove anything without her permission. 

 

The response she received was a mumble of incoherent words and then Emma dramatically flinging her arms to opposite ends of the bed. 

 

Regina set to work, first removing the gaudy leather jacket Emma had a penchant for wearing, then her too-tight jeans. She mumbled an “I’ll be right back,” before leaving the bedroom and returned minutes later with a pair of sweatpants, bottle of aspirin, and a glass of water.  

 

Emma beamed at her. “So Madam Mayor _does_ own something other than pantsuits.” The words came out sort of slurred, but she seemed so delighted with this new information Regina could only chuckle. 

 

“I can’t very well sleep in a pantsuit Miss Swan, it would crease.” 

 

“I like it when you call me that,” she mumbled with a barely-there smile. Before Regina could ask her to explain herself, Emma’s eyes drooped shut. With a deep, content sigh, the sheriff rolled over on her side, hand blindly searching for a blanket, then pulled the downy comforter up and over her head. 

 

 _Right_ , Regina reminded herself, _the sheriff sleeps in her undergarments._ Sighing, she sat the aspirin and water on the nightstand and then watched as Emma’s breathing evened out. 

 

Seeing Emma like this, untroubled, was paralyzing. She was the reason Emma looked so defeated all the time. Not the only reason of course, she knew that, but a reason nonetheless. For the past three years she tried to rectify it all. It still felt like every step she took was the wrong one though; Emma was still unhappy and stupidly determined to put Regina before herself. Looking at blonde hair sticking out from underneath the comforter she was reminded that she was also responsible for this night—for Emma smiling so widely and bubbly and being happy; with a renewed sense of determination Regina left the room, closing the door to leave her friend to snore the rest of mid-morning away.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SQW Day 2, Travel

The sun was full bloom, illuminating the entire hallway in a golden hue. She considered sleeping for a few hours, but dismissed the idea quickly—there was too much to arrange before their departure. She descended the stairs lightly, trying to make as little noise as possible, and settled herself onto a barstool at the kitchen counter with a cup of steaming coffee and began to make the necessary preparations. Starting with a phone call to Zelena, then the Charmings and Henry.

 

They were all relatively understanding. Zelena’s tone suggested the trip was more of the sensual nature which Regina tuned out instantly—eventually just huffing out her plea to safeguard the town in their absence. The Charmings were even more hellacious, wanting Regina to divulge information that she was unwilling to share. She felt a migraine budding with their ceaseless questioning and snapped at them to put Henry on the line. She asked him if he would like to accompany them but he declined, saying, “This is a trip you need to take together. _Alone_.” She grew suspicious at the stress he put on the final word, but brushed it off for the moment, chalking it up to his intuitiveness. He probably saw right through her explanation behind this spontaneous trip.

 

Her coffee went untouched and grew cold by the time heavy footsteps echoed down the stairwell. The scuffling of feet sounded on the stairs and seconds later Emma stumbled through the doorway, movements faltering when she noticed Regina already in the room. 

 

“Uh, hey. I thought you were still asleep.”

 

“No. And even if I had been,” she paused to smirk at the sleepy blonde, “your gracelessness would have woken me.” 

 

“What time is it?" She slumped down onto the stool next to her own, looking as exhausted as Regina herself felt. 

 

Regina got up and poured her coffee down the drain before grabbing another mug and pouring them both a fresh cup. “A little after ten.” She slid the mug in front of Emma who gratefully snatched it up, wincing as the steady stream of caffeine scalded her throat. 

 

“Are you hungry?” She scoffed at the predictability of Emma’s answer: an enthusiastic nod. Of course she was hungry, her stomach was a bottomless pit never to be fully satisfied. 

 

Eggs, milk, flour, sugar—ingredient after ingredient was meticulously placed onto the counter as Regina readied their late brunch. She pulled bowls and pans from their respective cupboards and arranged them in a way she had discovered, after years of cooking for her son, to be the most effective lineup.

 

“I made arrangements for Henry to stay with your parents while we are gone,” Regina said absentmindedly as she stirred the pancake mixture. “I was thinking we could have dinner with him tonight and leave first thing tomorrow morning.”

 

“Yeah, ok. That sounds good,” she nodded. “He didn’t want to tag along?”

 

“No. I’m afraid our son is up to something, but I’m not quite sure what it is. Yet.”

  
Emma grinned into her mug. “He get’s that from you. The scheming.” 

 

“Oh, so I’m to blame for his treacherous behavior?” she felt her lips curl into a smirk. “There are at least a dozen traits he has picked up from you that are less than desirable.” There was no bite to the statement, it was more akin to affection. 

 

She looked over her shoulder to Emma who was grinning back at her. For a protracted moment it looked as though Emma was going to say something, but then it passed and a sort of stillness fell over them. Regina offered her a small smile, eyes crinkling in the corners, and then turned back and added the final ingredients to the batter. 

 

“Do you have any idea where you’d like to go?” she asked without looking away from her current task. The flame flickered to life on the stovetop, reminiscent of the fireballs she used to conjure out of thin air. (She had been reluctant to use magic ever since she had been reunited with her more twisted half). She ladled a generous amount of the thick batter onto the pan and watched as it sizzled and bubbled against metal. 

 

“Maybe down the coast of Maine to Cape Cod?” Emma suggested. 

 

Regina hummed in consideration. “I will look into places to stay,” she said as she wedged a spatula underneath the pancakes, removing them from the pan. She walked around the counter and placed a plate in front of Emma before sitting next to her. “Apple pancakes with homemade whipped cream,” she announced. 

 

Emma poked at it with her fork, “This thing isn’t poisonous is it?” 

 

Her heart wrenched at the question and she glared at her own plate, hard, willing it to catch fire. She looked up when Emma tried and failed to suppress her laugher. “It was a joke, Regina. We are so far past that. _You_ are so far past that.” 

 

She could only nod in response, her throat too constricted to speak without the risk of her words coming out strangled.

 

“Those days are behind us,” she reaffirmed, and Regina felt herself relax.

 

The eager scraping of silverware drew her attention to Emma’s plate moments later. She jabbed a healthy piece of pancake onto her fork and let out an appreciative groan as her lips closed around the mouthful of sweetness. “This is the best thing I’ve eaten in my entire life! I’m moving in. Henry is going to have to learn to share.” Her voice sounded so resolved. Regina involuntarily smiled.  

 

A companionable silence fell over them as they continued to eat; a low moan that had Regina’s cheeks darkening filled the silence every so often. 

 

The rest of the day was a relaxing affair. Emma hovered a few feet away from her; too concerned that she was bothering Regina to engage in actual conversation, but too anxious to be left to her own devices. Dinner was accompanied my the melodic laughter of Henry and Emma, and there was an abundance of leftovers after supper; she packaged them, along with a few other treats she cooked throughout the day, into Tupperware for Henry to take to his grandparents. They would stuff him with unhealthy food throughout his stay, she was sure of it, but it put her mind at ease knowing he had some healthier choices. 

 

A knock sounded at the door after dinner when they were settled in the living room. A random movie was playing in the background as Henry and Emma excitedly chatted about his plans for the week, his eyes beaming and hands gesturing animatedly. He was going to learn to fight with a real sword—despite Regina’s protests—and ride horseback through more treacherous terrain than the paddock he had been sequestered to. 

 

Regina ran her hand through her hair and down her slightly crumpled clothes, taming her day-mussed appearance. She reached for the door handle with a carefully sucked-in breath and controlled smiled; the Charmings greeted her on the other side. 

 

They exchanged pleasantries before she excused herself to inform Henry—and Emma—that his grandparents were there. 

 

He scrambled off the couch, grabbing the duffle bag that was resting at the end of the couch, and raced to the front door. Regina and Emma trailed after him, sharing a small smile at his eagerness. 

 

“Thank you for doing this,” Emma said when they reached the door, dredging up a smile that looked too forced and artificial.

 

Mary Margret was ignorant to it of course, just smiling that kindly smile of hers in return. A smile that was full of understanding and hopefulness—for _what?_ a more detailed explanation why they were leaving?—the one that still irked Regina. “He’s our grandson we’re always happy to watch him.”

 

*

 

Two. That’s how many road trips they had been on in the past year. Neither were for pleasure. The first was to find a former friend and protect a last-ditch effort at finding love; the second, to save their son from his reckless attempt at keeping their family together. (Heroics and impulsiveness ran thick in the Charming bloodline; something Regina was beginning to find more and more taxing). This time, however, was different. 

 

The sky was still dim when Emma loaded her duffle bag and Regina’s suitcases into the Bug. Regina packed for what felt like a month long excursion rather than a week and dark eyes narrowed in a warning look when Emma voiced that particular complaint. 

 

“We can take turns driving if you want. I don’t mind you driving my car unlike some people.” Her eyes darted to the Mercedes. Regina rolled her eyes fondly and slipped into the passenger seat. 

 

The trunk shut firmly behind her, followed by the driver’s side door opening—practically yanked from its hinges. Emma flopped onto her seat and shoved the key into the ignition. The engine stalled twice before sputtering to life. Regina delicately coughed and gave a pointed look to her own car. Emma glared back at her, just for a second, before fiddling with the center console.

 

“No. Absolutely not.” 

 

Emma laughed hysterically while fumbling for Regina’s arm when she moved to get out of the car. “Okay. Okay,” she wheezed, “No Snow White soundtrack. I’m sorry.” She sounded far from sorry. “I appoint you to Music Superintendent. Have at it.” She leaned over, opening the glovebox to reveal various CD cases. 

 

Regina picked one up and inspected it. “Vivaldi?” she arched an eyebrow.

 

Shrugging, Emma pulled out of the driveway and headed towards the town line. 

 

*

 

Five hours in a car with Emma Swan was nothing new, yet it never ceased to amaze her how self-entertained she could be. It was almost like traveling with a puppy; always easily entertained and amused with themselves. Long-winded chattering about _anything_ that peaked her interest took them all the way through New Hampshire without the awkward strain of forced conversation. The final hours were accompanied by Emma’s, unnecessary, commentary on Regina’s own driving skills. By the time they arrived at their destination Regina was exhausted; meanwhile Emma was practically bouncing in her seat. 

 

The small seaside cottages, though exorbitantly priced, were all occupied. When Regina went online the other evening to rent out a cottage for the week all but one were logged in. 

 

They strolled down the wooden path, belongings in tow. Sand and marram grass lined the walkway and the sky was thick with billowing clouds. A gentle breeze began to stir, tangling sand in blonde and brown tresses. At the farthest end of rentals sat a small, white cottage. As they neared it, it was evident that the house was weathered by years of sand-blown storms. Paint was chipping off the front of the house and the window shutters were battered from years of beating against the wall and wind. 

 

Emma unlocked the door with the key they picked up minutes prior and toed it open while grabbing their luggage; Regina followed her inside. She took in the interior: it was rustic, but the amenities were updated. The doorframe was freshly-painted; cream shelves lined the three living room walls, neatly organized with novels and bookends; matching couches were resting adjacent from each other, wicker baskets filled with knitted blankets leaned against the armrests; and the tiny kitchen had a floor-to-ceiling window facing out to the ocean.

 

“This place is amazing,” Emma breathed out in awe as she retreated from the hallway. “Those bedrooms are nicer than my entire apartment!”

 

“Yes, it very nice,” Regina agreed, slightly distracted as she continued to glance around the cottage. She shook herself out of her daze and turned towards Emma, hands clasping in front of her. “Would you like to stay here and unpack or go explore for a while?” she asked somewhat uselessly; she knew Emma better than to expect her to do something so vapid when the prospect of having fun was offered. 

 

“I’ll grab my flip-flops,” Emma said, already running back down the hall with an easy smile tugging at her lips.

 

Regina heard Emma’s excited chattering about where they should go and what they should do—words blending together and becoming nothing more than indistinct vibrations. Then there was a clattering of something and a muffled “shit” followed by the unmistakable sound of a zipper being tugged open eagerly, then tossed to the floor. Emma returned looking triumphant, as though she just won a wrestling match with her luggage rather than simply fetched a pair of shoes from it. 

 

“Ready?” Her voice was laced with mild amusement. 

 

“Yep,” she said as she clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and playfully bumped Regina’s hip as she walked past her and out the front door. 

 

*

Despite her earlier wave of exhaustion, spending a few hours exploring the seaside village with Emma was… everything. She was so used to their relationship being all bounce and go, never really able to just _be_ , that this stark contrast where they were simply strolling alongside one another seemed almost absurd. Years spent adjusting and adapting to one another, taking stances and altering them and compromising and somehow they ended up here, wandering aimlessly—passing by little shops, cafes, and even an old bicycle shop that rented out bikes to ride down the bikeway. It was an unforeseen development, but something she was learning not to question.

 

A few small puffs of clouds were turning a shimmery golden color as the sun set. Emma and Regina walked side by side, slowly. Too slowly and too closely. Regina tried not to focus on the hand brushing against hers after every other step they took, or the blonde hair that was tangling with hers in the wind. Whatever she was feeling, she couldn’t; this trip wasn’t about _that_. She refused to make it about _that_.  

 

They stalled when they reached the bay directly in front of their house, reluctant to turn in for the evening. 

 

“Want to familiarize yourself with the water?” Emma smirked and something flitted past her eyes that Regina was quick to dismiss; she wouldn't even entertain the thought. She politely declined, choosing to stay closer to the shore and let the sand slip through her toes with her shoes clutched in one hand while Emma wandered near the bedrock. 

 

She looked up when she heard a hideous sounding screech. 

 

Waves lapped up against Emma’s legs, seizing her and dragging her down; effectively drenching her from head to toe. She marched back towards Regina, dejected and pouty—the pinnacle of petulance—and plopped into the sand at her feet.  

 

“Did you get too familiar with the water for your liking?” She fought the urge to laugh at the sopping blonde when Emma scowled at her. 

 

“There is sand and fabric cementing itself to my skin,” she grumbled. 

 

Regina let out a breathy laugh as she sat down next to Emma. Not too close. She did not want moist sand rubbing off onto her and clinging to her skin as it was to Emma’s. 

 

The last remnants of the sunset were dissipating, the once golden sky now a deep shade of purple. They sat there, the moon gradually glowing brighter above them, until the air started to cool and Emma quietly shivered next to her. 


End file.
